I arrived into the state, anxious about what awaited me. I’d been told that I’d be met by a camera crew and they’d get me coming down the stairs. Having traveled all day, barely slept, freshly tattooed and in pain, I could only expect the worst. I’d spent the last couple of days strategically placing napkins underneath me to avoid weeping of ink and plasma from my backside onto sitting areas, largely successfully, with some embarrassing slips, and I was limping noticeably. I walked out of the secure area: no one was there. Phew. I went to grab my baggage and turned around- there’s the camera and the fertility agency owner behind me. They didn’t recognize me, and I took a moment to breathe in and say hello. After hugs and introductions to the french girls, I had to reenact getting my luggage, followed by a there time reenactment of us walking through the airport doors. Dismayed, I learned that this is what reality TV is about, even if they tag the word “documentary” to it. They picked me up in the convertible mustang and we went to the fertility doctor’s office. I wore my rise and fall T-shirt cum dress for this one. We had to pretend that I’d never done this procedure before and the doctor hated acting more than anything. I was terrified they’d actually make me get examined, blowing my recently tattooed ass cover, but I protested enough that they left me alone. Afterwards we drove to tustin to meet up with Nicole and brandan at strike, Nicole’s bowling alley workplace. We got drinks and she killed me at pool on camera, and the rum made my lips looser than I would have liked, and though these girls were pro-egg donation, since it’s TV, I know they focused on my and my friends’ tattoos and will edit my responses to lean toward the sensational. It airs in October, so I’ll find out soon enough. I eagerly anticipate the emails I’ll receive from old co-workers after.
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